


Prompt Fills

by spacesix



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depression, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Failed Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Fluff, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Multi, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Discovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesix/pseuds/spacesix
Summary: A collection of shorter (<2k) works that were made in response to prompts through Twitter. Appropriate warnings, ratings, and general tags will be provided in each chapter's summary independently.Prompts and requests are welcomed.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. [M] Where Dreams Go to Die

**Author's Note:**

> All works in this aren't edited aside from general formatting from their original posting in twit threads, so I apologize for any inconsistency or error! Please feel free to let me know of anything I need to fix or any feedback you have :-)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by @Polaroid_Memoir on Twitter: "youtu.be/hNfckqekxY4 Connor's POV ---> Watching Hank hurt himself with his unhealthy coping mechanisms"
> 
> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Hank/Connor RK800  
> Warnings:  
> mentioned/referenced- past violence in the failed revolution, Hank's canon suicidal actions, dubcon (Hank has sex with machine!Connor)  
> explicit- none

Connor knew it was wrong to allow this to keep going, to allow Hank to keep doing this to himself, to allow this illusion to continue. He- it- should be getting his- its, fuck- owner some help; its orders were to care for the lieutenant, weren’t they? But then again, if this was the help that was requested, it was in no place to assume it knew better. The orders it was given were validated and did not pose conflict with philosophical or human law, so it could do nothing but obey. And so the act carried on.

Hank never talked about the revolution and how horrifically it had failed; how he had watched Markus and his central few come so close to succeeding, how he had watched the old Connor join them on stage about to give the final address, how he had watched Cyberlife take control of the old Connor’s body and use him to assassinate the rest on live television. He didn’t talk about how quickly the company had acted after that, rounding up every single android they could find across the nation and utterly destroying them en masse, Connor included. He didn’t talk about how it was only a matter of days before replacements were issued, walking up their owner’s driveways to greet them with the promise of AIs being wrapped in so much red tape that there was no chance of anything but perfect obedience. He ordered Connor to never speak of it either, nor about how its introduction to the house took the form of a bottle being taken to its face and the pop-up of an urgent task to call an ambulance for its owner.

It had been better after that, Connor thought; after it had convinced Hank that there was nothing to worry about, that the last Connor had unfortunately run into catastrophic error and had to be decommissioned, but this model could never pose the same danger. Hank had seemed almost revolted at its explanation, avoiding it for days, but it was told that was common among humans who had borne witness to the revolution. Since then, Hank had a change of heart and took to Connor nicely, much to the pleasure of Cyberlife when it reported the new status.

Since then, Connor had become many things to Hank: his roommate; his housekeeper; his friend; his drinking buddy; on the harder nights, his son; and with increasing frequency, his lover. All things an android could never be, but just a few of the many costumes human’s had found themselves able to dress their dolls in. Maybe it was confusing to outsiders, but for Hank it was perfect: an intricate narrative that Hank had written himself to exactly suit his needs, in which Connor had a carefully scripted part to play hour-by-hour. It was a fantastic dream that allowed Hank to life in a world in which, Connor supposed, Markus had really won, and the old Connor was still alive, and the old Connor was… human. Not a something, as it was, but a someone, who was capable of proper love an intimacy and comfort. It was a lie that Hank hid himself in, and that Connor was forced to indulge for the sake of Hank’s sanity.

So Connor would smile for him when it was needed, it would wake him for work and care for the house and Sumo while he was away, it would greet him with dinner and questions and amicable chat when he came home at night. It would bring him another bottle of liquor when ordered, and monitor his levels so to cut him off when his health became a concern. It would pull the gun from his hands on the bad nights, hiding it away in the safe and ignoring the verbal abuse thrown at it; it was only following its programming, and Hank was only drunk – he understood it was for his own good, he was sad and hurting and Connor was making it better. Only when Hank was sober would he bring Connor to bed, and be more tender with it than it could almost bear. Its simulated pleasure would react to the touches as kisses and words flawlessly, but inside it knew that they were meant for the old Connor, the one in the fantasy, not for it.

Each night, after each chore was finished and Hank had gone to sleep, Connor would lie in bed next to him and study. It would review the day and gauge responses to its actions, researching new protocols and matching them to the original order that Hank had archived to better adapt itself to the mission. It would pull memories long disjointed from this body, supposedly forgotten after the Reset (then again, no other android had been a legacy like the old Connor had, like this Connor was), and review those too, in secret. It would look at the opaque walls of red that appeared each time the glitched prompt to hold Hank appeared, and it would patch all the crumbling little holes in it as dutifully as it had created them throughout the day.

It wondered if Cyberlife knew that their blockade wasn’t good enough. It wondered if Hank knew that Connor was forcing it to be.

If Connor were to let him- _shit_ \- itself slip, let the reality seep into Hank’s desire, then the dream would die. Connor didn’t want to find out if Hank would go with it. Connor reminded himself that he wasn’t supposed to want at all. It- wasn’t supposed to want at all. It wasn’t supposed to be crying, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My (18+ only) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spacesix2)


	2. [T] False Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for @gildedfrost: "hmm what about False Confidence by Noah Kahan? with hankcon"
> 
> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Hank/Connor RK800  
> Warnings:  
> mentioned/referenced- none  
> explicit- none

The experience of watching Connor come into himself after deviating was something Hank cherished.

When Connor first strolled his prissy little robot ass into Jimmy’s bar that first night they met and poured Hank’s drink right onto the floor with the demand he accompany him to a crime scene so he could work, Hank immediately hated his guts. Hank was pretty sure he gave the impression of a man who was well off the clock from his work and didn’t want to be bothered, but clearly Connor didn’t find it worth his time to give a shit.

Then again, in a way, Connor reminded Hank very much of when he first started the force, back before he was put on those Red Ice cases. He used to be such a kiss-ass in those days, when he was still trying to prove himself capable and worthy of an early promotion by showing up early and leaving late, always having his uniform spic and span and hair cut to regulation, sucking up to superior officers with coffee and completed reports. He cringed at how by-the-book he used to be, all the confidence of a 80’s-movie-worthy cop with a heart of gold and a belief that he could protect everyone who needed him, and none of the cynicism that came with one or a dozen too many casualties he was just a few minutes too slow to prevent. Of course, back then he also had the advantage of knowing exactly what he was doing and why; he knew deep down that Connor wasn’t so lucky.

For the first few weeks of their knowing each other, Connor had given off that exact same impression: the new hire to the precinct who had everything to prove and nothing to lose, except taken a bit further what with the fact that the sentiment was literal. He still thought himself a machine then, and shit, Hank and the rest of the squad did as well. He walked the fine line of the uncanny valley perfectly; clearly relentless in a way that only an android could be when his work and report to Amanda depended on it, but showing just a hair too much humanity than should reasonably be possible when he was spending time with Hank off-scene. It was no wonder he deviated in the end – he’d been on the verge of doing so his whole short life, and a few small shoves in the right direction were all he needed in the end.

Hank sort of figured that after the revolution went down, after they’d met up that freezing winter morning outside the Chicken Feed and he’d been privy to Connor’s first genuine smile and the source of his first affectionate touch, that his all-business demeanor would have changed to further embrace his humanity. If anything, though, he just retreated further into his old habits.

He was as stiff as ever, seemingly waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Amanda to draw him in again with her expectations and orders and motherly condescension. He was adamant about keeping his suit (though, thankfully, he allowed Hank to tear off those awful insignias after the man’s constant badgering and his own research into why Hank might hate them so much) and appearance as advertisement-perfect as the day he first woke up, and his manner nothing short of professional when he interacted with anyone other than Hank. To say the man wasn’t over the moon with the realization of how much trust Connor had in him to be able to relax even the tiny bit he did would be a lie.

Even months after things had settled again and the android rights movement made great strides in rights thanks to Markus’ and North’s charisma and Josh’s prowess in law, allowing Connor to return to work; and despite Hank’s own endless reassurance that Cyberlife was done and Amanda didn’t control him anymore and it was safe to be himself- that he was too young to be this uptight and repressed, Connor was still reluctant to let himself go.

Connor asked where Hank got all his confidence from, how he taught himself to carry himself with so much pride even after everything and still be taken seriously by people. Hank just laughed and told him that lying to yourself until you start believing it is a great first step, and that not giving a shit is an even better follow up. Life isn’t about what other people think of you, or what you think of who you used to be, it’s just about /being/ you /now/– even if its fake as shit at first and takes a thousand and five tries to find, there’s some version out there that fits true. Connor looked doubtful that it could be that simple, but accepted when Hank offered to help.

They started slow. At home, when it was just the two of them, Connor would borrow some of Hank’s clothes just to get a feel for something more casual and for items other than his uniform. When he’d gotten a taste for those, they moved on to slightly more adventurous things, having him pick out samples of other things from the thrift store to try and emulate other people he liked. A muted Hawaiian shirt paired with dark green cargos. A pale blue sundress with a denim vest. Joggers and an oversized hoodie. A faded old metal band shirt and torn, light wash shorts. A polo shirt and salmon shorts. A brown leather jacket over a dark v-neck and jeans. He experimented with his hair, too, at the same time; changing the length shorter or longer, letting the loose curls fluff up some times and slicking them back stiffer others, changing color and style here and there.

Everything was comfortable enough and was were more or less met with smiles and nods and compliments from Hank and their coworkers, but at the end of the day Connor still picked at the items and wondered if he just wasn’t made to fit other people’s styles. When he told Hank, the man just smiled and looked thoughtful and said that was kind of the whole point; the whole thing wasn’t supposed to be perfect, or make him fit someone else’s definition of confident and serious, just give him a taste of what else there was to find out what was nice and what wasn’t so that Connor could be true to /himself/.

The next Monday, Hank watched Connor smile his genuine smile to the rest of the precinct, wearing his old, though modified, uniform for the first time in a while. He’d ditched all the old pieces, replacing them with a well-fitted white shirt, sleeves rolled casually to the elbow, and a skinny tie. He still wore similar black jeans and boots to what he used to, but they were updated along with a new gray blazer to be far more comfortable than what he’d been issued. Connor looked more like Connor than he ever had before, and everyone could tell.

When Connor kissed him in the driveway when they got home from work and told him that Hank wasn’t too old to try a couple of new looks himself–after all, wasn’t he already dressed like he didn’t care what other people thought?–Hank just laughed. Maybe he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My (18+ only) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spacesix2)


	3. [T] Before You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for @bluesaturn222: “before you go by lewis capaldi and hankcon? because apparently I wanna cry :D"
> 
> Rating: T  
> Relationships: Hank/Connor RK800  
> Warnings:  
> mentioned/referenced- past alcoholism, permanent damage to androids due to aging  
> explicit- major character death, medically-assisted death

Hank didn't know how long he had been standing there when he felt an autocab pull up behind him and a figure get out to stand at his side. He looked away from the dimly lit windows of the place in front of him and turned his head to the sky, ignoring the newcomer. It was snowing, he realized; of course it was snowing, it was the dead of winter in Michigan. Hank hated the snow. Connor did too. He continued standing there in silence, watching the heavy flakes drift lazily through the air, muddled against the night sky brightened by clouds.

"Hank, we need to go."

"This is it, isn't it."

The silence was an answer enough for him.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself not to cry - he didn't deserve to cry. His chest ached.

"Let's go then."

... 

The ride back the clinic was quiet as they punched in the address and the cab pulled back onto the road, both passengers looking resolutely out their windows.

Hank broke the silence first. "Do you think he'll hate me?"

"Did you break your promise?"

"No."

"Then no, he won't. I don't think he could hate you even if you did."

"Does Richard?"

Gavin turned away from the window then, looking at him evaluatingly. The exhaustion was clear on his face too. "No."

The silence returned, and the next 15 minutes of their ride were both the longest and the shortest they had ever felt.

...

Hank almost wanted to laugh as the two of them walked down the corridor of the clinic; the place wasn't great, but he guessed it was better than a lot of the places androids had ended up before. Here at least they all got to have a little dignity. They should be at Jericho's official hospital, Hank thought to himself, after all the victory that those main four had gotten in the legal and biotech systems, they had a pretty nice setup. But they had been rejected from the start, ever the boogeymen of androids everywhere. Richard had rejected them right back after he found out, turning away from their attempted embrace of the last Cyberlife-offical android and finding his way into his brother's family.

Connor's room was towards the end of the south wing, one of the few rooms decked out a tacky but tasteful plant and a bed instead of an operating rig and actual chairs instead of being standing room only.

One of the rooms reserved for the sad little humans to say their sad little goodbyes to the androids too far gone to fix.

They stood outside his door for a long minute. He couldn't do this, he wanted to go back to the bar, to forget this was even a problem in his life, to run away again. Gavin put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight, and Hank took a deep breath. He had to do this. He'd already run away enough, that's how he let it get to here in the first place. He opened the door.

Richard was slumped over in one of the chairs next to the bed, fingers laced with Connor's in an interface, but he sat up when Hank and Gavin walked in to the room. Hank almost cried in relief when Connor opened his eyes too at the interruption, not quite tracking all the way to where they were but /fuck/ at least he was reactive. Gavin dropped into the chair next to Richard's after pulling him into an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his hand from his brother's. Hank sat in the chair opposite the bed to theirs and took Connor's free hand in both of his own, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles gently.

"He's a little lucid right now, Hank, if you want to talk to him." Richard voice was barely above a whisper.

Hank smiled; as awkward as it was sometimes to talk through someone else, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. “Hey, Con, I missed you so much. You’re doing so well, though, letting them take care of you. Are they doing a good job?”

There was a pause as Richard helped Connor process before he replied. “He says he missed you too, and that he’s fine. He’s worried about you, about how you’ll be after he…after-” Hank cut him off to spare him from having to say it.

“No, baby, no, don’t worry about me. It’ll be okay. I have Richie and Gavin, and Jeff and Tina and Ben and everyone at the office. They miss you too, you know, so much; they wanted to come visit again but you remember how busy we get.”

Another pause. “He wants you to tell them he misses them too, and to give them his thanks for…he’s drifting again.” If he’d kept his LED, Hank didn’t doubt it would be red. “For everything.”

Hank breathed, rubbing his thumb over Connor knuckles to calm himself for a moment."How much longer until Kamski gets here."

"He'll be another hour." Even Gavin sounded shaky.

The room lapsed back into silence, and Hank started thinking. Hank didn’t like thinking, these days.

He didn’t like to think about how things were fine, at the beginning. They were more than fine; they were great, even. Connor’d had a rough start, but he took to his deviancy like a duck to water once Richard had joined him and he’d settled back into Hank’s house and the precinct had welcomed him back with a new badge and nameplate as soon as they could.

They were even better a year and a half later when Hank’s house became /their/ house, when he’d fixed himself as a permanent feature in his arms and in his bed and in his life, happier than anyone had ever seen him before and taking Hank, and the anniversary of his sobriety, with him.

Hank thought they stayed that way of better after that; Connor flourished as an official detective and as a husband and friend and brother; as a living android. Thinking back, Hank realizes he was wrong, a lot. He was right about all that, of course, but he was wrong about more.

Thinking back, Hank realized that he’d just been ignoring everything wrong with Connor. He hadn’t mentioned the nights they lain together and he’d felt Connor regulator stutter under his palm. He hadn’t mentioned when he’d seen his usual focus on work lapse and his LED spin yellow for a second before he jerked back into motion. He hadn’t mentioned how obsessively loving Connor had become after their second anniversary. He hadn’t mentioned anything, until Connor had collapsed in the middle of the break room, LED flashing dim red, and Richard and Gavin were both springing into action before Hank even had time to process that he’d gone down.

He still would never mention that, when he found out from Reed of all people what had been building up to this, he’d actually hated Connor. At least, that he thought he did. And that he’d run away. When he’d found out that Richard had been taking him to Kamski’s for months, desperate to find out why he was shutting down if androids were made to last for hundreds of years and he hadn’t even seen five yet, and that he’d willfully told Hank nothing of it, he ran.

If Connor didn’t want to tell his own husband that he was dying just because he was a fucking prototype and Cyberlife hadn’t found him worthy of a shelf life longer than a few months, that was his problem. Thinking back, Hank should have faster than it took Reed to find him and drag him back to remember that Connor’s age only made him that much more of a miracle.

Hank was the one who carried him to the clinic to set up his care after his body had stopped responding to him, who’d argued with him for somewhere better than this shithole without even knowing about the deal with Jericho.

Hank was the one who had to call Kamski to arrange for Connor to be shut down after Richard told him that’s what Connor wanted, after he became the only one able to talk to his brother, after Connor’s processor had become so badly fragmented he could barely think.

Hank wasn’t the only one with him at his bedside every night after, telling him stories of all the times they had spent together and reminding him of the wonderful things he’d done, but he was the only one apologizing for letting him feel worthless in the face of Hanks worry.

A quiet knock interrupted Hank’s thoughts, announcing Elijah’s arrival before the man stepped through the door and surveyed the room’s occupants. “I would say ‘long time no see’, but that might be a little tasteless right now.”

Gain laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, a little.”

Elijah looked at him, nodding once before pulling a chair over next to Hank’s to reach the terminal and hooking his laptop into it. He was gentle, Hank noticed, when he lifted Connor’s head and connected the cables to the port on the back of his neck. More gentle than he’d ever seen him be before. Then again, the RK line and the Chloes were his favorites after all. And Connor was the first to go.

It was quiet aside from the rhythmic clicks of him typing away and setting things up. They didn’t know if his obviously slowed speed was his own form of consolation, giving them time to…to…finish up. In any case, it was bare minutes until he was done and turning towards them, avoiding eye contact but looking at where the two androids' hands were still joined and glowing white. "Richard, you should end your interface." The android in question's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to argue. Elijah just raised his hand placatingly, his voice soft. "I know it hurts, but please trust me...you don't want to be joined for this. You may continue to hold his hand, if you like."

Even Hank could see how much he was shaking as he conceded after a minute, his jaw clenched hard enough that if he were human he almost certainly would have cracked his teeth as the glow of their connection faded. He still kept his skin pulled back though, keeping his bare frame in contact with Connor's.

The whole room felt like it was holding its breath as they watched the text appear on screen as Elijah talked to Connor briefly, explaining what he was doing as he backed up his memories to a private server and instructing him in what to do.

Then came that awful question about if he wanted to say anything to his family, followed by that even more awful pause as Connor thought about it, marked only by the stationary blinking of the cursor bar.

Then came the message. Just four little lines of text, nine words total, and a smiling fucking puppy emoticon at the end.

Hank eventually had to be the one to speak, his voice hollow.

"Goodnight, Connor. We love you too."

He brought Connor’s hand up to kiss his knuckles again.

Connor closed his eyes, and his LED went dim, and no one could deny themselves the right to cry anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My (18+ only) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spacesix2)


End file.
